I Thought Of The Things That Had

But That’s One Advantage Of Fiction, You Can Speed Up Time.

The Writer Must Be Universal In Sympathy And An Outcast By Nature: Only Then Can He See Clearly.

And If You Had No Tongue, No Celebrating Language, You’d Do This: Cross Your Hands At The Wrist With Palms Facing Towards You; Place Your Crossed Wrists Over Your Heart (the Middle Of Your Chest, Anyway); Then Move Your Hands Outwards A Short Distance, And Open Them Towards The Object Of Your Love. It’s Just As Eloquent As Speech.

[literature Is] A Process Of Producing Grand, Beautiful, Well-ordered Lies That Tell More Truth Than Any Assemblage Of Facts.

We Thought We Were Being Mature When We Were Only Being Safe. We Imagined We Were Being Responsible But Were Only Being Cowardly. What We Called Realism Turned Out To Be A Way Of Avoiding Things Rather Than Facing Them.